Gloomy Sunday
by Houkanno Yuuhou
Summary: One-shot inspired by the Billie Holiday song which was translated from a song nicknamed The Hungarian Suicide Song google it for more information . I don't want to give too much away. Just a warning: contains angst and sensitive subject matter.


Time had dwindled down until it completely stopped right there on the dewy morning grass with all of its fresh Spring smells. It had taken Gerald, Phoebe, his grandparents, and his parents to move him from the spot where his feet had decided to just root themselves to the ground like some miserable weed.

It wasn't right, not right at all for the weather to be so beautiful on a day like this. He could hear her voice behind him with her usual sarcastic half-laugh, half-snort. "It's par for the course! You shouldn't expect it to rain on this day, Arnoldo...not when it involves me."

He smiled softly and nodded, letting arms guide him into his grandparents' Packard. He still didn't trust his feet to make the journey.

As they pulled away, he took one last look out of the window and sighed deeply. His throat ached with the desire to sob, but he strangled the very thought of that even though a lone tear managed to escape. Why should he cry? She would hate it if he cried over her.

Why was everyone so damn cheery? Elbows nudged him and laughter filled his ears, coaxing him to take part in the jokes, but he wouldn't...just couldn't. He didn't care if he was never happy again. Life was so dull, the colors were so gray without her spark there to ignite them and make everything seem youthful and exciting to his eyes.

Without her there to breathe life into him, what would he do? Where would he go?

The world around him moved on as if the day had never come. The ghost in the car sat in her normal spot, taking up room that he refused to let anyone else have...but no one worried. They allowed him that small space, as if it were merely reserved for her, and she was on her way shortly.

So many wonderful hours had been spent in the back of that car. Spilled milkshakes had soiled the leather. Half-eaten chips had fallen between the seat folds along with their bags. Buttcheek prints had smeared the glass. Sloppy kisses had been shared. Bras had been removed, and hesitant boyish hands had remarked at the joy of feeling even the slightest hint of breasts for the first time.

Never again.

A sniffle made them stop their chatter and question him, but he shook them off, not wishing to divulge his secrets.

After all they had experienced, all they had shared with each other, how could she still feel unloved?

Ah, but there was the rub, right? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't replace the love of her family. Before his parents had come merrily traipsing back into his life, he had shared that loss with her. He loved his parents dearly, but it couldn't be denied that they had brought with them a gap that had settled itself in between him and Helga, and it had grown wider like her jealousy as the days went on.

The car rumbled and hissed as it ground into a halt. He would have stayed there longer within the warm embrace of the ghost, but everyone would worry themselves over him, and he didn't want the attention. Arms tried to lead him into the gathering reception, but he didn't feel like a damn party, so he brushed them off. He just wanted to go home and listen to his favorite music to find some sort of connection like he had felt with her. Maybe listening to their special songs would bring him close to her again and push the loneliness away that had been planted in his heart when he had found her letter.

His feet took a life all of their own and led him down the alleyways back to his house, but he didn't mind. He had nothing to say to those people who called themselves her family, and he held no desire to pretend a false friendship while they reminisced about his girl with him when they hadn't even known her or cared to do so. He was sure that, by now, Olga was making herself the star of the show as she was so wont to do, and everyone would let her because they couldn't help being misled by her charms as Helga often said. It was sickening really, and he was sad that he couldn't see that until it didn't even matter anymore.

The nearer he got to his stoop, the wearier he became until he scrambled up the steps, sending dirt and welcome mats flying through the air in an effort to produce the house key, and he briefly marveled over the idea that his grandparents still kept a spare key so close to the freaking door in this day and age when anyone could just rob the place to their heart's content.

Why the hell was he thinking about that? That was a Helga thought and something she'd had felt no qualms over mentioning repeatedly during the years they'd known each other.

As he turned the knob, he wondered how many times she had used it while he was in San Lorenzo with his parents. How many times had she climbed these same steps and opened the attic door and smelled his sheets while wearing his extra clothes and listened to his CDs and cried over missing him and dreamed about tasting his mouth and God, oh God, why was he doing this to himself?

The pictures he kept of her glared at him menacingly as he stepped into his room, and wait, when had they stopped smiling adoringly at him?

Softly played music touched his ears as he realized he'd been too depressed to turn his radio off as they left earlier. Turning up the volume slightly, a familiar voice carried over the waves. "Good afternoon all of you crazy cats and chicks. This is Nocturnal Ned of MJZZ bringing you all of the jazz and blues hits of yesterday and today. The sun couldn't be shining any brighter out there, but it's definitely a gloomy Sunday for someone out there in Hillwood."

He snorted and relaxed onto his bed, thinking the DJ couldn't have put it any better than that.

"And that reminds me of the story behind this next song. Also known as The Hungarian Suicide Song because it reportedly sent people to their graves after listening to it, Billie Holiday made the English version famous back in the early days of '41. Now here's Gloomy Sunday for you on MJZZ."

"_Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless,_

_Dearest, white flowers will never awaken you,_

_Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you,_

_Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you,_

_Wouldn't they be angry if I thought of joining you?_

_Gloomy Sunday."_

The sorrowfully sweet melody caressed him, lulling him into a gentle peace. Had she felt this same way before she had pulled the trigger?

Sleep was definitely escaping him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her pained face staring back at him, and when he dreamed, he found her over and over again. Scarlet liquid pooling on the floor beneath what had previously been a beautiful head of pigtails, now torn in two and shattered. Soulless eyes looking into space, seeing nothing, not even pausing for his heartache. Ears could no longer hear his broken cries, screaming and screaming until his voice finally gave, feeling deader inside with each hiccup.

"_Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all,_

_My heart and I have decided to end it all,_

_Soon there'll candles and prayers that are said I know,_

_But let them not weep, let them know that I'm glad to go,_

_Death is no dream, for in death I'm caressin' you,_

_With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessin' you,_

_Gloomy Sunday."_

Had it really been that easy to cast aside everyone? Had she remained stoic to the very end?

No, the ink on that hateful paper had been plastered with knowing trails of wetness, so she had probably sobbed bitterly throughout.

Her feelings were written on there like some sort of Shakespearean sonnet, pleading with him to understand that she would have never known love had he never come along, and she would be eternally thankful, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn't remain happy. She'd never be enough for him.

She'd been more than enough for him! Why couldn't she see that?

He'd eventually lose interest in her, just like everyone else.

How could she think like that? They were yin yang, inside and out! Sometimes her eyes were like looking into a mirror, and he could see the heart he kept on his sleeve buried deeply within her soul.

Everyone would be fine and forget she ever existed because life goes on like that.

He didn't want to forget her. Life wasn't worth living then.

"_Dreaming, I was only dreaming,_

_I wake, and I find you asleep in the deep of my heart here,_

_Darling, I hope that my dream never haunted you,_

_My heart is tellin' you how much I wanted you,_

_Gloomy Sunday."_

He wanted it all to be a dream so badly. Each little ache was magnified every time he stopped long enough to remember he'd never hear her voice again. How could he go on? Why the hell would he want to go on?

He desperately wanted to feel the love she poured into her last letter for him. Hands clutched at a pillow, pretending the stuffing was her body and the cover her soft skin. Tongue drifted out to taste salt and sweat, but nothing happened. Nothing worked. It was all a horrible reminder that she was gone to him forever.

But the song ended and took his misery with it. Maybe she wasn't completely lost. Maybe she was just waiting for him on the other side.

Her many worn faces on those photographs suddenly twisted, and she was no longer frowning at him. Instead, she beckoned him...called to him from the rooftop like some Greek Siren of yore.

_Come to me, my love. I never meant to hurt you. I'm happy now, can you see? I can be like I was always meant to be! I don't have to hide from you anymore! Isn't that great?_

The skies were Helga blue, the same shade as her irises. The sun was golden waves just like her hair.

He wished he knew how she felt beforehand. Was she this calm? Certainly staring down the barrel of cold metal couldn't be the same as the eerie tranquility of standing on the edge of forever, looking down at your tomorrow.

The air roared around him, rushing against and through him with its thickness. It was like swimming in the deeper part of the ocean. Everything sucked and pulled, but it didn't feel like he thought it would. It was welcoming in a way, like he was being carried into her awaiting arms.

And he felt her love again for him at the end of it all...and then there was quiet nothingness as she greeted him with, "Hey, Arnold."


End file.
